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Rimsha Afreen Feb 2020
Birds drop dead at my feet
I don’t know- if to die myself, or to give them life.

Now I know that heaved wings look like
Grey snows melting into each other

Life vaporizes from the summer sky
As a wounded dove trembles in my lap
Chris Saitta Feb 2020
Polyurethanized love,
Polyols and isocyanates
And one part dove.
Ashlyn Yoshida Feb 2020
Broken wings and ****** feathers
the grey dove tries to fly once more
It feels as if it's being pulled in one direction
And being unable to follow the leash
It watches forlornly as the others around it
the ones who had been broken by the same thing
take flight
renewed
refreshed
ready
but the little grey dove
isn't so sure if she's ready to take flight anymore
She's not sure who's fault it was.
The cat who broke her wings and threw her?
Or was it herself, for letting him do it?
The little grey dove
is waiting instead of doing
She knows that time can heal her wounds.
But perhaps the bone is broken
too far up.
Perhaps she'll never fly again.
No one comes to keep her company through out the months
she's made a small refuge, a place to sleep
a place to heal
But every once in a while
A newly white dove comes by
with a bent feather of her friends
evidence that the cat is still out there
While she sits
and heals
and does nothing.
Skyward Jan 2020
The mourning dove speaks one soft coo.
The air feels cool as morning dew;
The purest breath I ever drew
Gives me more joy than I am due.

The sun has only kissed the air.
Its light awoke the baby hare.
The grass sways in the breeze so fair,
And flows like flowing angles hair.

The sky – deep blue; the trees – dark green;
The golden sun completes the scene,
And from this feast my eyes do glean
More glory than they’ve ever seen.
A recollection of early mornings in the front yard of my childhood home.
the doves came swiftly into
the patch of sky above me

the first three had not a single wreath
or branch at the tip of any of their beaks
they simply flew into the openness above me

to thine eyes they neared the celestial sphere
                                     ...
Could he be as swift as the doves  
while jotting down equations over the gridded paper
was he too, thinking of the heavens
or just of the gravitational modeling over time and space  
Could the young man with the TI calculator
see, too the same patch of sky with the same doves  
as he engineered our course through space
running multiple scenarios through his mind
                                      ...
they gave us wings, and now we can all fly on commercial flights
take day-long trips to destinations to that used to be called "far off"
                                     ...
After being picked up from the airport I asked my dad
"Do you still think the sky divine?"
                                    ...
It had been raining for a week and the Santa Ana winds had turned the mild L.A evenings into chilly and sweater worthy nights.    
As we sat on the porch I leaned over and asked him about god; he pointed at the sky, but not at himself 
–and I wondered how much of heaven could be there for us
within that sky and beyond it
There are dreams of leaving earth and of making humans interplanetary. My question is: Would it be "heaven on earth" minus the earth part or would we reproduce the same mental formations and create a world that suffers from the same ailment of our current. How much of "heaven" of this idea of space that we've placed part of our collective hope will we really find?
Tenant Dec 2019
Little dove-true love
concubine white wine Pure-No
To touch-red and real
If I store my feelings on the clouds and make it rain on you, will it make you feel how it feels to be in love?
Will you finally smile with your soul and feel free like a dove?
I hope this rain washes away the sorrows and restores the love you've lost
I hope it makes you love yourself enough to put no one above.
Äŧül Nov 2019
In that valley of love,
I want to nest my dove.
In that valley of love,
I shall find a hidden trove.
In that valley of love,
I should not need clove.
My HP Poem #1803
©Atul Kaushal
lunademiere Oct 2019
Rose tears are my lips
and these lips are anointed
in the nectar balm where
angels sip and roar. This
garden of my soul is but a
flying dove, going from
pond to pond and hiding in
its treasures. No human can
catch me, no perception, no feeling,
for I am the everlasting substance
of Heaven.
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